


First Sentence Fics

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 20:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 12,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Written in response to a meme where somebody sends the first sentence of a fan fic to your inbox, and you have to finish the story.  Various characters, pairings, and themes.





	1. Chapter 1

Note: The Chapter titles will be the first sentences of the stories contained within. These stories are not connected.


	2. Prior to today, all of David’s interactions with Medda had also featured Jack

Prior to today, all of David's interactions with Medda had also featured Jack.

This particular interaction, on the other hand, featured only the pounding rain, and a rather flimsy pink umbrella.

“Look at your papers,” Medda had said, meeting him by chance. “The ink is running everywhere.”

“It’s a lost cause at this point,” David answered, as Medda moved in closer, ornate umbrella shadowing his head as she tried to shield him from some of the water. “I’m going to sell them back. I’d like to see whether or not they’ve kept their word down at the distribution center, and this is the perfect chance.”

“No stipulations made about the condition of the merchandise?” Medda asked.

“None.”

Medda laughed, the sound loud and genuine. It was at that moment that David decided that he liked the vaudeville star quite a bit.


	3. “If you’re trying to get me to talk about my brother behind his back, it’s not going to work,” Sarah insisted

"If you're trying to get me to talk about my brother behind his back, it's not going to work," Sarah insisted.

Nicolas scrunched up his nose. He couldn’t help it. Everybody said he had a sour face, but the world itself was hard and sour, and anybody who said it wasn’t was a hypocrite.

“Maybe you don’t know Dave as well as I do,” Nicolas joked, only to be met with a cold stare. “But anyway, like I was saying, I’ve put up with him for nearly a full month just to get a chance to talk to you, so you might as well give me a chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Is that so? Because I regret the last five minutes I’ve spent speaking to you very much.”

The next day at school Nicolas found solace in complaining to the other boys at school that none of the Jacobs siblings were worth speaking to, not even the pretty one. It had been an interesting experiment, but Nicolas was glad it was over. Pretending to be friends with David had been trying, and he’d only been too lucky to escape before Sarah finished seducing him with her feminine wiles.


	4. He stopped and looked around, realizing he may have just said too much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (( AU in which Jack and David were thrown in the Refuge together and had a romance thing, and now David is out and talking to Denton.))

He stopped and looked around, realizing that he just might have said too much.

David hadn’t known, upon knocking on Denton’s door nearly three hours before, just how unequal he’d be to the task of telling this story. He’d expected to force the reporter to meticulously photograph each and every scar and bruise that Warden Snyder had left on his body, but he hadn’t expected to feel cold and nauseous as he did so. He hadn’t known, when Sarah had insisted on accompanying him, just how grateful he would be that she was there, as willing as he was to lie to their parents and to sneak out of the house for the sake of doing this, and much less ashamed.

David had been awake the whole night, thinking of what he’d tell Denton, of what words he’d use to make it scathing and eloquent, interesting enough to keep people who didn’t really care what happened to prisoners and vagrant children hanging on every word, and convincing enough to incite change. He hadn’t known how he’d stammer through the beginning of his tale, and how he’d find himself unable to think as the words tumbled out of his mouth later, raw and brutal details overtaking the carefully constructed sentences he’d meant to speak.

It was only after starting to explain about the first time he’d kissed Jack, that David became aware of what he was doing, and that awareness was like being doused in boiling water or struck by lightning.

David clamped his mouth shut. He stared at Denton and swallowed hard. He could feel his heart beat in his hands and his neck, pounding heavily in his ears. The back of his throat tasted sour.

Sarah placed her hand on his shoulder, just a few heartbeats after he’d really needed her to. She looked nearly as pale and wary as David did, but when she spoke, her voice was firm.

“Anything that happened in there the fault of the warden and the guards,” Sarah said. “They’re depraved, and I’d like to think that it’s your duty as a member of the press to make sure that the right people are made accountable.”

Denton’s pen scratched across the paper as he crossed something off his notepad. Up until then he’d been writing down David’s words just as automatically as David had been saying them. Slowly, he put his notepad down on the table.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Denton informed him, before disappearing into the kitchen. David just swallowed a few more times, and concentrated on his breathing. Sarah took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly.

It didn’t take Denton long to return with the water. David took a few sips from the cup he was offered, though in all truth he was surprised that he was even able to swallow. Denton settled back into his chair across from David.

“Do you need to talk?” The older man asked. “Off the record.”

“I’d rather not.”

Denton nodded. “You have to be very careful with who you say that kind of thing to. You do know that, don’t you David?” asked Denton, quietly, as though he was trying not to startle him.

“I don’t want you to use this interview,” David told him. “Everything I say is coming out wrong. I want to write it down.”

“I don’t think you’re doing as badly as you believe you are, but if you’d rather I use a written statement, I can do that,” Denton said. He seemed to be deliberating for a moment, and then he leaned in closer. “You can trust me,” he told David seriously.

David’s response was as much of a surprise to him as anything else he’d said or done that day.

“Prove it,” he spat out, and even though he had no power here, it sounded forceful. “You’ve got to get the Refuge closed down. I need you to get that place torn to the ground. If you can do that, and if you can get Jack and Crutchy out of there before it kills them, then I can trust you.”


	5. “You’re joking, right? This has to be a joke.”

"You're joking, right? This has to be a joke."

David felt bad for the words as soon as he’d said them. He felt like somebody had reached down inside him and pulled his stomach out through his throat, but that didn’t change the fact that the little girl playing in the corner with a pile of pots and pans from the kitchen had ears to hear and eyes to see, and didn’t deserve to be subjected to the burst of confusion and anger that had overtaken David.

“I–” Jack looked down at the floor and rubbed his neck. He couldn’t even meet David’s eyes. “Her name’s Rebecca. Her ma…”

“How old is she?” David interrupted.

“Near four. You know, she needs somebody at that age. She needs somebody period. Ain’t no kid of mine gonna spend her childhood out there on her own.”

David closed his eyes. He brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to react, to keep quiet and think before he spoke. The tension was giving him a headache, and he’d only known about Rebecca for less than ten minutes.

“We’ve lived together for three years,” David said finally, slowly. He was usually great at math, but trying to piece out where, in their shared history, Jack had found the time to conceive a child was dizzying.

Jack seemed to understand what David was getting at. When he spoke next his voice was smooth and gentle.

“We hadn’t done much, you and me. Not at that point. We wasn’t a sure thing yet, not like we is now. Like I hope we still is now, at least.”

Jack reached out to touch David’s chin, to try and lift it so he would look at him. David jerked away, choosing to look at Rebecca instead. She had soft brown hair, and honey colored eyes that looked just the same as her father’s.

“I don’t believe in illegitimate children,” David said at last. His voice was shaking, and he hated it. “What I mean is, I don’t like the term. It’s a horrible way to talk about a person. Every child is legitimate.”

David could feel Jack staring at him, so he kissed him quickly but fiercely. There would be time to tell him later how angry he was, and how much things had changed. Right now he just wanted to tell Jack that he wasn’t through with him yet, at least maybe he wasn’t.

David didn’t allow Jack to touch him a moment longer than was strictly necessary. He turned instead to kneel down next to Rebecca, and introduce himself to her.


	6. “What on earth is THAT?”

"What on earth is THAT?"

“Don’t you recognize a dog when you see one?”

The truth was, David hadn’t. The bedraggled thing sitting on the kitchen table, in the nest of sweaters that Jack had made for for it, resembled a diseased sewer rat more than it did anything else.

Lips pursed, David stepped closer and peered cautiously down at the creature, afraid it might leap up and bite him. It was even more pitiful up close than it had been from afar.

“It’s bleeding,” David observed.

“Some kids was kicking it around, so I kicked them around. Turns out they didn’t like that so much.”

It was then that David noticed how hunched over and defensive Jack still looked. His arm and shoulders were tense where David touched him, and David was glad that by sheer dumb luck he’d asked some questions before getting mad at Jack for bringing the animal home and swaddling it in what had been perfectly serviceable items of clothing.

“I’ll go next door and ask Sarah for a bottle,” David said. “Then we can heat up some milk for it.”

Jack’s smile was quick and incredulous, tinged with worry for the animal he brought home, but also with something like pride. He gave David a kiss on the cheek before nudging him towards the door.

“I should’ve guess you’d know what to do Dave,” Jack said.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting you name it anything to do with cowboys or the Wild West,” David answered, resolving to make sure that this dog survived, and to learn to like it once it did.


	7. "You're absolutely certain this is the best use of your time. Really??"

"You're absolutely certain this is the best use of your time. Really??"

“I have to study,” David whined. He was sprawled out across his desk, and would have been the very picture of tragedy to somebody who didn’t know him well. Sarah just rolled her eyes. She picked up his paper. Across the top of it, the words HISTORY NOTES looked like they had been written by a drunken sailor as he braved a storm at sea – a drunken left-handed sailor trying to use his right hand, if Sarah was going to be less than charitable. The space beneath was filled with circles and squares, and what Sarah supposed was meant to be a stick-figure approximation of a cat.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” Sarah said sternly. “Go to bed, or go sit out on the fire escape with Jack. He’s been waiting for you.”

“Too tired to move.”

Sarah sighed. There was a hint of bitterness in it that she couldn’t help.

“If I could go to school,” Sarah found herself saying later, out on the fire-escape next to Jack, since it seemed rude to ignore him when she’d been the one who suggested he come over in the first place, “I’m sure I’d make a success of it, and be quite content. Tests are just tests after all. David is being ridiculous and I have no patience for it.”

Jack looked all concern, but also slack-jawed and awkward, like he didn’t know quite what to say. He adjusted his bandana, and Sarah found herself blushing as she stared down at her skirt.

“I love my brother,” she said firmly. “I suppose it’s silly to think about how things would be if our roles were reversed, since they won’t be.”

“Dave wouldn’t be great for making lace.”

“He can sew buttons,” Sarah answered, feeling she ought to defend her brother, having just insulted him.

“Medda’s got a professor friend. You want me to ask him for some test papers? I bet he’ll give me as many as you like, and then you can take them in your free time. Like… like a hobby or something.”

This made Sarah laugh, “You have the strangest definition of hobby I’ve ever heard.”


	8. What made you think that was a good idea?

"What made you think that was a good idea?"

“You mean the strike?” David asked.

“Yeah. The strike.” There was no hint of judgement in Mush’s voice. He wasn’t looking at David as an instigator or as a genius. He was just curious.

David looked at his own knees. He didn’t know why such a simple question, coming from such an inherently trustworthy person should make him nervous, but it did.

“I guess I didn’t know I was talking to other people when I said it,” David admitted. “I’d heard of strikes before. It was just the first thing that popped into my mind. I didn’t expect anything to come of it.”

“That’s why I admire Jack and you,” Mush said, clapping David on the back. “You can come up with ideas like they’s nothing.”

David smiled at Mush. He didn’t want to say that he himself had felt like nothing and no one before the strike.


	9. “I had to get something out of being Irish…” Spot muttered, putting the fiddle back to his shoulder.

"I had to get something out of being Irish..." Spot muttered, putting the fiddle back to his shoulder.

“What are you going to do with it?” David asked, eying the instrument doubtfully.

“Play it.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Play it,” he repeated, absolutely deadpan.

“What the hell else do you think I’m gonna do with a fiddle? Eat it? Turn it into a boat? Use it to bludgeon shut the mouths of people who don’t know when to close ‘em?”

Instinctively David took a step back. Jack rested both hands on his shoulders.

“Jesus Spot, how’s he supposed to know all us Irishmen is expert fiddle players?”

David looked back at Jack, “You know how to play the fiddle?”

“We’re Irish,” said Spot. “There’s no telling what we know and what we don’t. And no point in askin’ neither.”


	10. I’m telling ya mush,“ blink began, "the guy was a complete stranger; just walked up and gave me the bag”

"I'm telling ya Mush," Blink began, "the guy was a complete stranger; just walked up and gave me the bag"  
Blink opened the bag. There was a small glass jar, with the words -Magic Beans- written in ornate handwriting upon a paper label.

“Magic beans!” Mush exclaimed.

“Huh.” Blink shook the jar. It didn’t seem very full, and sure enough, when he opened it up there were only two beans inside. “What do ya propose we do with them?”

“We could eat them with bacon.”

Skittery, who was trying to read at his bunk, let out a loud groan. “First of all,” he said. “They aren’t really magic. Nobody wanders around the streets of Manhattan handing out magic beans to the likes of us. Second of all, everybody knows that the first thing you do with magic beans is you plant ‘em.”

“Oh,” said Blink. He shook the jar again.

“You wanna plant them?” asked Mush. “We can’t know that they isn’t magic if we don’t even try.”

The next thing he knew Skittery, who had dozed off, was being dragged out of bed to go to the nearest park and plant the magic beans, seeing as it had been his idea in the first place.


	11. Les swore he'd never let this happen again.

Les swore he'd never let this happen again.

Not that kissing Annie behind the school hadn’t been nice, but fourteen was too young to get married, and mama and poppa wouldn’t approve.

That didn’t mean he wanted to keep quiet about it, either. It had only been a peck on the cheek, but it was important to him. He knew that David would scold, and Sarah would romanticize it beyond what he could deal with, even as she warned him to be careful.

After much deliberation, and in the middle of a sleepless night, he started to compose a letter to Jack, in hopes of getting some solid advice in return for the postage costs.


	12. He groaned, panting slightly. “What are you trying to do here?

He groaned, panting slightly. "What are you trying to do here?

“Carry this damned statue,” Swifty wheezed. “And what are you trying to do here, blow my cover?”

“You’re carrying a five foot tall bronze angel through downtown Manhattan. I don’t think you need me to blow your cover.”

“Shut up Mouth. Take one side. Act natural, like you’re supposed to be hauling this thing around.”

“No.”

Swifty smiled slowly, sweat streaming down his face, “you want I should put it down, and holler for the cops to come an’ get you? That’ll teach you not to ask questions if you ain’t willing to do your share.”


	13. "Don’t be a douchecanoe, Race.”

"Don't be a douchecanoe, Race."

Racetrack glared at Spot Conlon. He didn’t know what a ‘douchecanoe’ was, but he knew an insult when he heard one.

“I’ll get my act together as soon as you do,” he told the other boy, “Which’ll be never.”

“Says the guy who gambled away his mother’s wedding ring to the king of Brooklyn.”


	14. “Why are you running?”

"Why are you running?"

The speed with which Tumbler had been hurtling towards them had been enough to knock Les off his feet. David glared at the smaller newsie as they both helped Les to stand up again, Tumbler dusting him off and sheepishly handing him his hat, which had fallen to the ground as well.

“There’s a fire on fifth! They’s got the trucks and everything!” Tumbler explained breathlessly, “Hope there’s lots ‘a blood and gore! Good headline tomorrow!”

With that Tumbler was off again, and when Les bolted after him, that left David no choice but to give chase as well.


	15. David couldn’t begin to describe how a punch could hurt so bad, and yet leave him feeling so warm inside.

David couldn't begin to describe how a punch could hurt so bad, and yet leave him feeling so warm inside.

Maybe it was internal bleeding. He really really hoped that it wasn’t. That would be difficult to explain to people.

“Those bastards really laid into you,” Jack said at last, removing his hand from David’s stomach, where he’d been probing gently for any bruises or breaks. He smoothed David’s shirt down, and when he took a step away, the ache in David’s body was sharp and cold again.


	16. “You are not allowed to listen to that song ever again.”

"You are not allowed to listen to that song ever again."

“You mean this song?” Jack teased, pushing a button on his phone to make it restart.

“Jack, you’ve listened to it over one hundred times, turn it off.” David made a grab for Jack’s phone, but Jack ducked away. Undaunted, David tried again. On the fourth time, much to David’s surprise, Jack handed the phone over to him.

“Really?” David asked, not even thinking to secure the phone somewhere where Jack couldn’t retrieve it.

“Yeah. It’s all yours.”

Slowly and cautiously, David turned off the song. Jack began to sing. David turned on a different song. Jack began to sing louder.

David took a seat in the armchair, a few feet away from Jack, and turned on that Plants VS Zombies game that Jack had downloaded (and paid 99 cents out of his very meager bank account for, much to David’s dismay).

As predicted, this only made Jack sing all the more enthusiastically. He hated to be ignored, and usually made a fool of himself when David tried it.

David wasn’t disappointed in this instance. He waited for the crescendo at the end of the song, and just as Jack was jumping up and down and spreading out his arms in a true dramatic finish, David snapped a picture.

“I’m changing this to your profile image on every social media platform you use,” David informed Jack, before breaking into a run.

(Jack caught him before he could do any damage, but the chase was worth it, and gave Jack a way to occupy his mouth in a manner that was far less annoying than singing bad 80s pop.)


	17. Never in a million years would David have imagined himself doing this, but here he was.

Never in a million years would David have imagined himself doing this, but here he was.

The rhythm and movement of the train felt languid and almost comforting. It was hard to believe that he and Jack were speeding across the country faster than a horse could gallop. It had been three days now, and David had become used to the tiny world inside this railway cart - the baby who cried three seats behind him, the stale overpriced coffee in the dining car, the chatter and the scenery, the people playing cards. David was used to it. He loved the warmth of Jack’s shoulder in the seat beside him, even though he couldn’t touch him the way he wanted to, here with so many others around them, here on this unbelievable journey.

Jack had become used to it as as well. He’d spent the first day of the trip nearly bouncing out of his seat. Dave, look! A cow! A tree! A sunset! Davey, look at that, another train’s passing us! Wonder where they’re goin’? Look! Look! Look!

Jack was asleep now, head on David’s shoulder like a wind up toy who had finally become unwound. The sun was rising, and David wasn’t sure if they were going through a desert, but it certainly looked like one. There weren’t any cactuses, but the land looked dry and sandy. The sun was huge and red, the sky around it painted in shades of pink and orange such as David had never seen. It was his turn to shake Jack awake, David’s turn to make him look.

“It’s so much like you described it,” David said, as he and Jack stared out the window at this place that was almost Santa Fe.


	18. “Okay, I get it: you like bunnies.”

"Okay, I get it: you like bunnies."

“Not all bunnies,” Mush said cheerfully to Julia, the girl behind the bar counter. “Just my bunny. Rescued her a year an a half ago and she’s just… She’s just nice to have around, you know? I ain’t sayin’ I don’t like other bunnies, but it ain’t the same, if you get what I mean. She’s just a great rabbit. The best rabbit, and my best friend other than Blink. He’s the handsome looking fellow over there.”

Mush made a grand gesture to Kid Blink, who was a few feet over laughing about something with Dutchy and Specs.

Julia didn’t know much about rabbits, but before the night was over, she decided that she was glad that Mush’s made him happy. He was about a dozen times more polite than most of her other patrons, he remembered to tip her, and he told her before he left that he thought she was nice and talented, which was something she rarely heard from men who weren’t total creeps. If anybody deserved a cute little bunny rabbit to keep him company, it was probably Mush.


	19. “… Don’t tell me you were trying to blow that up.”

"... Don't tell me you were trying to blow that up."

“Of course I was -trying- to blow that up. Think about it Dave, why else does anybody put a box of peeps in the microwave. Maybe I like explosions, alright? Did you ever consider that?”

“But our microwave!” Davey exclaimed, with a wild gesture over at the microwave, which was now covered bubbling yellow slime.

“It was me,” Crutchie interrupted. “You don’t gotta take the blame for everything I ever done wrong. I was trying to make s'mores.”

“What is it with men and trying to martyr themselves?” Katherine asked. “I’m the one who did it. I hate that microwave. I’ve always hated that microwave. In fact, I hate all microwaves, for they are my sworn enemy.”

Davey looked from Jack, to Crutchie, to Katherine, wondering if this was all part of some elaborate plot, and quickly came to the even worse conclusion that it wasn’t, and they were making up all of this nonsense off the top of those ridiculous, creative heads of theirs.

“Well,” said Davey, rather thoughtfully, “the three of you aren’t boring, I’ll give you that much. You are, however, a disaster waiting to happen, and you’re also going to clean that microwave until it glistens, got it?”

Katherine gave a mock solute, and they started in on the task of cleaning the microwave.

About thirty seconds later, Davey realized that having the three of them do that without him only made him feel left out, so he picked up a paper towel and joined the party.


	20. “If you don’t stop that right now,” Jack began.

"If you don't stop that right now," Jack began.

“You’ll do what? Make me? Because if you’re going to make me I might have some suggestions as to h–”

Jack swallowed up David’s words in a fierce kiss, which had been exactly what he’d wanted in the first place.


	21. "Jack! I can’t believe you sometimes!”

"Jack! I can't believe you sometimes!"

Jack was taken aback by just how much Les looked like his brother when he was angry like this.

“Seein’ is believing,” he tried to joke. Five years ago, it would’ve worked. He would’ve been able to turn the conversation around, and get Les talking on some other topic, or laughing at his antics. Not now.

“Well, I for one would like to see you do something worthwhile with your life. I admired you.”

Les’ voice cracked on the word _admired_ , and Jack’s heart cracked right along with it.

“That was dumb of you. You really think I meant for you or anyone else to do that? Huh?”

Les looked away, and Jack got the feeling that this time it would be forever. It was probably better that way. If only he could cut ties with the other Jacobs kids as cleanly…


	22. David swore he would never put on tap shoes again

David swore he would never put on tap shoes again.

Mush hadn’t known they were tap shoes. He’d heard from somebody who had heard from somebody else that it was the first day of Hanukah, found the worn out old pair of shoes on some peddler’s cart for six cents, decided they looked to be about the size of David’s feet, and bought them without a second thought.

They weren’t the size of David’s feet. They were at least a size and a half too small. They made this damnable clicking sound everywhere David went. Also, it wasn’t the first day of Hanukkah. It was a rainy day in April.

There was one reason and one reason only why David was wearing the shoes at all, and it was a few words said by Skittery after Mush had given him the present:

“Mush always wanted a pair of new shoes. He went and gave you exactly the thing he wants the most.”

Keeping that in mind, he thought he could just about manage to put up with one day in tap shoes. Maybe he could even do it gratefully.


	23. “Damn, I wish I wasn’t colorblind.”

"I wish I wasn't colorblind." 

“Wait… Wait… You’re colorblind? So you don’t know what your sweater says?” Davey asked, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise, that might have angered somebody a little less forgiving than Crutchie.

(As things were, he found it kind of cute)

“Are you gonna tell me or not?” Crutchie said, glancing down at what he’d thought was a sweater depicting a tough-looking but otherwise charming misfit of a puppy dog.

Davey looked around, as if expecting a teacher to come jumping out behind a tree ambush them, then leaned in to whisper in Crutchie’s ear.

“It says _I do it doggie style motherfucker_."

The words said, Davey backed up, pink eared and flustered.

(Now Crutchie was sure that he most definitely found him cute, but he had other problems to attend to.)

“In really bright green letters on a red background!” Davey went on. “Even if it said something nice, it’d give me a headache.”

Crutchie frowned, cursing his lack of care on his most recent Goodwill trip. “Guess this one is a detention in the making. At least I can count on Jack to keep me company there.”

“Wait…” Davey said, and then began shrugging his way out of the sweater he was wearing. Crutchie held his breath, and then felt silly for doing it, because of course Davey was wearing another sweater under it.

“My mom always makes me wear like ten layers,” Davey explained. “I won’t miss the top one.”

Crutchie grinned as he accepted the sweater.

“Thanks for being a pal.”


	24. "I told you already, I'm the king!"

"I told you already, I'm the king!" 

“And I told you that real castles aren’t made of gold, and don’t have silk cushions on the beds.”

“But I’m the king!!” Les whined.

“Maybe you are,” explained David patiently, “but I don’t think you understand what a castle was. It was a purely defensive structure. Like a fort.”

“But…” Les started, gearing up to argue again.

“David’s right,” Sarah said, without looking up from her sewing. “And he’s also a dragon. You’d better defend your castle against him before he eats you. Dragons are ticklish, Les, especially around their underarms.”


	25. “You can’t come in here looking like that.”

"You can't come in here looking like that."

Jack had a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered how Katherine, who was usually bold as brass, had looked nervous when she’d asked him to come to this damn event, and how many times she’d apologized after he’d agreed.

Jack looked the butler up and down. He took a breath.

“Alright,” he said slowly, “so what I gotta do to clean up proper?”


	26. “Throwing up isn’t exactly intentional.”

"Throwing up isn't exactly intentional."

Jack frowned at the irritated look on David’s face. He supposed he deserved it.

“Okay,” Jack said. “I get that, but how you feeling now?”

“Contagious.”

Jack’s hand, which had been hovering just over David’s back froze for an instant, but then David was sick again against the wall he was leaning on, and Jack decided to take his chances.

“Food poisoning ain’t contagious,” Jack said, taking hold of David’s shoulders. “And you gotta get home somehow.”


	27. "You're... I didn't think you were still alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ties in with my fic "Fire".

"You're... I didn't think you were still alive." 

Jack put his hands on David’s shoulders, as the boy in front of them, clad in the same uniform that David had once worn to school, went very pale and stumbled over his words.

“I mean… Y-your house… The fire… I..”

Jack felt David go tense, and was about to say something, to pull him away and put an end to this conversation, when David shrugged out of his grip and took a step forward towards the boy.

“David Jacobs is dead,” David said, in a firm tone that just about made Jack believe it. “I am his spirit, come to warn you that you will join me in the afterlife in three days time. I’m not at liberty to say what accident is fated to befall your miserable mortal body, but I will tell you that you will burn in hell if you don’t repent your many many wrong doings.”

The boy turned and ran, and when David turned back to Jack he wore a fierce expression that told Jack exactly why the boy had been so frightened. It melted away quickly enough, but Jack found himself wishing he could unsee it.

“What the hell was that?” Jack asked, to which David just shrugged.

“He deserved it. Jack, I don’t… I’m not exactly feeling well.”


	28. “How old are you, anyway?”

"How old are you anyway?"

Snipeshooter froze, flowers and letter in hand, as the object of his affections towered over him, looking down on him with the lovely brown eyes that he’d only dreamt of seeing up close.

Samantha was a new dancer at Irving Hall, and he’d been leaving her letters and flowers every single day.

“I’m twenty thee,” Snipeshooter lied, taking the cigar out of his pocket to prove it. “Twenty three and a half, Miss, and very pleased to finally make you acquaintance.”

Samantha sighed. “I wish I could say the same. Well, I’m forty-eight and could be your mother twice over, and I suppose the nice gentleman with a villa upstate and a stable full of horses doesn’t exist.”

“He might, if he tries hard enough!” Snipeshooter protested. “I fully plan on being a self made millionaire, and you won’t be sorry if you give me a chance. Look, I made fifteen cents today alone.”

Samantha shook her head, “You seem like a nice enough child, so I’ll give you some advice. Wait a few years, and be honest with the object of your affection, first of all. Most women would rather be with an honest man than a millionaire who will lie to them with every breath. Now I think you really ought to go.”

“Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

Samantha laughed, “Not a chance.”

On the way back to the lodging house Snipeshooter thought long and hard on Samantha’s advice, and finally settled on the idea that he would ignore it and invest in a fake mustache instead.


	29. It wasn't like David had wanted to spend all his pocketmoney on that one jar of peanut butter..

It wasn't like David had wanted to spend all his pocketmoney on that one jar of peanut butter..

It was just that the other boys at Les’ school had started teasing him about the lunches he brought in, and David couldn’t stand for that. The lunches that Mama packed for them each morning were nutritious and serviceable, and in David’s opinion thermoses of homemade beet soup and potato dumplings wrapped in foil were a damn sight better than the sandwiches anyway, but for Les that didn’t take away the sting of being told he stunk of beets. Up until now Les had been popular at school. He was well liked, and always came home with stories of friends and games he played with them. Les had the ability to fit in that David never had, and David wasn’t ready to see him lose it, to see him begin to feel that there was something wrong with him. David counted his pennies and bought the peanut butter.


	30. “And when I’m away, I’ll write home everyday.”

“And when I’m away, I’ll write home every day…”

Les talked excitedly, and tried to ignore David’s doubtful stare. Jack was smiling, and that’s all he cared about.

“No you won’t,” David broke in. Les and Jack exchanged glances. It was just like David to talk like that, but they put up with him anyway, because they were loyal and long suffering.

“I will! I’ll write home twice a day,” Les promised. David was going to be a grump about his trip no matter what he said, Les knew, but he was willing to do his part to appease David. Everybody did. Papa let him have the fire escape to himself, Mama made soup without tomatoes, and Sarah only teased him a little bit for not being able to sleep without clean socks on his feet. David was just strange, but they loved him anyway.

“He’ll write home three times a day! He’ll do it after meals,” Jack added. He was also doing his part to appease David. He wrapped his arms around David’s shoulders, and gave him a playful shake, but he looked straight at Les even as he did it, sharing in Les’ great vision.

The thing about writing after meals was a real good idea. It almost got David to agree to the plan. He turned to look at Jack, and didn’t even argue for a few seconds.

It was too good to last.

“There aren’t any post offices on the moon,” said David. “Or any meals for that matter. It’s a barren rock. You won’t find a thing to eat. You’ll freeze to death and die, not that I’m entertaining the idea, seeing as it’s completely impossible.”

David spoke as if that settled the matter. David was very sure of his ability to settle all matters.

“Look on the bright side,” said Jack. “Least he’s not moving to live amongst the stars. Those is even smaller and farther away than the moon.”

“Yeah,” Les agreed. “I could go to a star, but I’m only going to the moon! The moon is real close, and really big! It’ll be great!”

“You people exhaust me,” said David. He even leaned back against Jack, to prove how exhausted he was.

“That means he’s tired,” Les told Jack.

“Fatigued,” Jack shot back.

“It’s okay to be fatigued, Davey. We can plan our moon city without you, and send for you when it’s ready. I’ll have a library put in just for you.”

Having made his generous offer, Les returned his attention back to Jack, and to the very pressing matter of their city on the moon.


	31. “DON’T TOUCH THOSE BAKED GOODS.”

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE BAKED GOODS.”

Not only did Jack touch one of the cookies that David was pointing at, but he actually shoved the entire thing right into his mouth. David Jacobs was not the master of him.

His face reddened as he spat the thing out onto the table. It was hot, the sweet cookie dough and chocolate chips having transformed into some sort of molten sugar lava during their time in the oven.

The only upshot was that David was biting his lips, and his scowl threatened at any moment to turn into a laugh.


	32. “He was the highest he’d ever been.”

He was the highest he'd ever been.

He’d go higher tomorrow. Give it a month, and he’d rise another thirty feet.

Swifty didn’t mind building skyscrapers. It wasn’t his ideal job. It was a little less free than he wanted, a little more precise, but damn if it wasn’t exciting. Swiftly ate his lunch each day resting on a piece of scaffolding almost too thin to fit his small frame, overlooking the entire city as it stretched out below. He could see Brooklyn from this vantage point. He could see houses, and roads, and carriages. Occasionally he could see automobiles.

Swifty could see the future from up here. His hands were helping to shape it. Nobody would ever remember him, probably, but what he was building would stand. People who came to New York would look up to the heavens, and see the work of men like him right up there with the stars and the sun.


	33. I'm sorry.  I lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a very young Mush and Blink

“I’m sorry… I lost it.”

Mush nodded slowly, wide-eyed. He put his hand on the kid’s trembling shoulder. The other fellas called him Blink, but he didn’t like that, not one bit. Mush didn’t know a lot about this new boy, just that he was alone.

Whatever it was that the boy had lost, he didn’t seem to have gotten it back yet. He was a little taller than Mush, and a little older than Mush’s twelve years, but he was hunched over and small now. He was a lot skinnier than Mush was. He’d thrown up, and Mush could smell it. They were in a shower stall that he’d neglected to lock, and it stank.

“You’re scared,” Mush said quietly, and the kid nodded. He was breathing heavily. His fist clutched the eyepatch, that a bunch of the older boys had wrestled off of him. The eyepatch wasn’t what he’d lost. Mush couldn’t see what had lay under it, because the kid was covering it up. “You want me to help you get the patch back on?”

No answer, so Mush just waited, it seemed for a very long time, crouching next to this new friend of his. Outside some of the others were laughing like nothing had happened. Mush hardly ever wanted to hit anybody, but he wanted to hit them. Maybe it was a good thing that he couldn’t leave the shower yet.

The one sound in the bathroom itself was that of the kid’s breathing, purposely slow, but heavy. It was only when this was interrupted by a distinct wooden clomp, the patter of footsteps and a crutch coming closer, that the kid suddenly handed his patch over to Mush.

Mush closed the door of the shower stall.

“You alright in there?” Crutchie called.

“Yeah!”

“Just checkin’ ”

Crutchie didn’t say any more, but Mush could tell that he was still listening outside, because there was no way he was getting away without being heard. Mush brushed his fingers against the boy’s wrist, and the boy moved his hand away from his eye, so that Mush could do his job. From behind he could see that the skin around the eye socket wasn’t that great, kind of pinkish and scarred, but he couldn’t see the socket itself, and he decided not to try. It wasn’t that he was squeamish - he just didn’t think the kid wanted to be stared at. He made quick work of tying the patch back in place, but continued running his hand through the boy’s yellow hair after. Mush couldn’t say how he knew to do this - nobody’d ever done anything like that for him before, but then again, Mush couldn’t think of a lot of times in his life when he’d been really afraid.

Eventually the boy straightened. He stood up deliberately, holding the wall for support.

“Gonna shower,” he said. His voice was hoarse, but he wasn’t shaking so bad anymore. Mush nodded. The boy didn’t exactly look at him, but he gripped Mush’s shoulder for a second, before nudging him towards the door.


	34. “I read the news today, oh boy!”

“I read the news today, oh boy!” Tumbler barged right past the cardboard-thin door of Skittery’s apartment, waving the last pape of the day like he meant to sell it to him right then and there. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon, but the news was so good, and Tumbler had already sold out of his papers. If today wasn’t the best day he’d ever had, it was at the very least a strong contender for the title.

“‘Is it aliens on the moon?” Skittery slurred.

“No, it’s…”

“If it ain’t aliens on the moon, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Tumbler’s heart sank. He looked around the room. There weren’t any windows, just an oil lamp that hadn’t been lit in weeks. The place stank. Even in the darkness, Tumbler could see the fruit flies that swarmed around in the air, and sometimes landed on him.

Tumbler was fifteen. He was fifteen years old now, but no person could make him feel like a little kid as much as Skittery did. Seeing Skittery lost and hurting always had the effect of making Tumbler feel all of three years old, a frightened and abandoned toddling thing, with nobody out there to help him or shield him from the world. Nobody had ever tried to take care of him, aside from Skittery. Tumbler bit his lip, and entered the room, leaving the door open to try and get some air in, and encourage the flies to fly away to greener pastures.

“I’m going to help you clean up, ‘kay Skits?”


	35. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Jack squinted at the suddenly bright lights in his dorm room. David Jacobs was standing over him, somehow managing to look flustered and angry at the same time. Jack rolled over and covered his eyes with David’s pillow, because even if David was nice to look at, Jack’s head was hurting him something fierce, and he was in no mood to get yelled at.

“Jack!”

Jack’s eyes flew open again. Probably only a fraction of a second had passed, but that was all he’d needed to fall back to sleep - now if only David would shut his trap and let him stay that way.

“Right here, Davey,” Jack slurred into the mattress. “You don’t gotta shout.”

“Except apparently I do, because you’re lying in my bed with no clothes and…”

This got Jack’s attention. He sat up, letting the blanket fall off his chest. He pushed his hair out of his face. “Who said anything about no clothes?”

“… Well, you’re not wearing any.”

“Is that a suggestion?” Jack grinned up at David. He pushed the blanket the rest of the way off of his body, revealing nothing, except for the fact that his lower half was clad in a pair of old blue jeans, and he hadn’t even taken his socks off, just his shirt, which was crumpled on the floor by the bed.

“Oh,” was all that David said. Jack flopped back in the bed, annoyed that David would sound so relieved. “Well that’s good then.”

“Well that’s good then,” Jack imitated, in a voice that was just a little higher than necessary.

“I’m going to ignore that. You smell like wine. I thought you didn’t even like wine.”

Jack didn’t. The wine had been free, and Jack guessed that he liked free things more than he didn’t like wine. “Your pillows smell like your hair,” Jack told him, because that was more interesting than free wine. David didn’t even answer. He was climbing the ladder to the top bunk, apparently intent on taking Jack’s bed if Jack was going to take his.

“Hey Davey,” Jack asked, eyes closing, “Would you really mind that much if I lay around naked in your bed for a while?”

“ Yes ,” David told him.

“Your loss.” Jack supposed that the bleak despair washing over him was just the wine. He’d cried earlier that night watching a GIF of a kitten falling off a table, filled with misery at the kitten’s bad balance. The idea of David not wanting his bare ass all over his sheets seemed even worse than that, somehow.

“We’d have to talk about it,” David added quietly, after a long pause. “And agree to it. When you were sober. It’s not something that you just get to do.”

Jack grinned, understanding. “You got it Dave. I’d never take off my clothes without your permission, you know? Not even to shower.”

“Not even to shower,” David repeated incredulously. Jack could hear a David shift in the bed, getting comfortable for the night. Jack did the same. He even stumbled up out of the bed to turn off the light, since David had forgotten to do it.

“Drink some water,” David suggested, instead of thanking him for turning the lights off.

Jack considered listening, but the water was too far away, and he was too tired. He grabbed his shirt off the floor, and wrapped it around his shoulders, then he slapped the side of his leg, just to verify that the lower half of his body was still fully clothed. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t going to completely scandalize David and break his promise only five minutes into it, he lay back down in David’s bed and fell asleep.


	36. “Now that plan A and Plan B are out of the question, running like hell seems like the best option.”

Les was never so relieved to collide with his brother David. He’d been sure he was going to be killed, and now there was hope. He scurried behind David, and Tumbler did the same.

The shop keeper who had been chasing after them was big and menacing, and he was holding a knife. He tried to push past David to get to the younger boys, but David put out a hand to stop him.

“What’s happening?” David asked, his voice shrill with anger. “Put that down! What are you doing? Why are you chasing after my brother?”

“That hooligan stole a chocolate pie off my cart!” The shop owner waved his knife menacingly in Tumbler’s general direction. From his place behind David, Les took hold of Tumbler’s hand. He gestured for the other boy to wipe away the chocolate smeared across his face.

“So you decided to go after a seven year kid with a knife?” David asked, incredulously. He looked back at Les and Tumbler. Les tried to implore David with his eyes to do something to help them.

“I’ve called the police,” the shop owner said. He was clearly trying to sound dignified, though he was flushed and red from both the chase and his rage that a small child would dare to take something that was his.

David licked his lips. He exhaled slowly. “Maybe,” he said, “We can work something out. For my brothers. How much was the pie?”

The shop owner still glared, thinking it over. “You offer to pay now that I have you cornered,” the man said. “And what if I had not caught you?” He spat at David’s feet. David winced.

“Our papa doesn’t approve of stealing any more than you do,” David explained quickly, “and… um… He’ll make my brother sorry. That he did it. He won’t be able to walk once we’re through with him, let alone steal.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “A dollar,” he said finally.

Les’ eyes widened at the unfairness of it all. “But your pies were fifteen cents! I saw!”

The shop owner made a lunge at Les, and David stumbled backwards in an attempt to keep him away.

“You want I should turn in your entire pathetic family? Criminals!”

“We can pay,” David said.

In the end David had to dip into Les’ pockets as well as his own to make up the money. Tumbler had taken advantage of the confusion to run away. Even so, they only had sixty-one cents. The pie maker accepted it, on the condition that David give him their names and their address, along with a written promise not to go within five feet of his pie shop ever again.

Les was near tears by the time it was all finished. He didn’t know how to control Tumbler, and now his family’s safety would depend upon just that.

Sternly Les told himself that he wouldn’t cry. He was near ten, and he just wouldn’t.

“I didn’t know he was going to steal the pie,” Les managed tremulously. “I didn’t steal anything. It was just him.”

David didn’t answer right away, except to put a heavy, stern hand on Les’ shoulder.


	37. Tell Me a Secret

“So tell me a secret, Mouth. Spit it out.”

“Wouldn’t you like that.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at David, incredulous, but not surprised, not really. He’d been teaching himself to expect David to do whatever he didn’t expect David to do. It was nice, because it made David seem less annoying, and more novel. Like right now, Dave was looking right at him, blue eyes challenging, hands jammed in his pockets, and Jack could just accept that he was the most attractively baffling person in the universe, and that was how things were meant to be.

David sighed. “You never tell me any secrets,” he explained. “I’m certainly not going to start spilling mine. You have to reciprocate.”

“Yeah? Well you’re the one who was saying you don’t think anybody really knows you. I’m offering to carry any bits of knowledge you wants me to, free of charge. Think about it.”

The conversation ended there. Les came bursting out onto the fire-escape to call them in for dinner, and it wasn’t like Jack was going to try and pry David’s deepest darkest secrets out of him in front of an audience. Besides, the audience was his family, who probably already knew too many of David’s secrets to find them enticing the way that Jack did.

They didn’t talk about telling secrets again, but David had a way of bringing them up little by little, one by one. Jack came to know of David’s conviction that Sarah was the smartest one in the family, the one who should’ve gone to school; he came to know that David had thrown up in gym class once, and viewed it as the most embarrassing moment of his life. Jack knew that David hated tomatoes and felt deeply guilty for it, and that he liked the way that Bumlets smiled (even though David didn’t tell him that one, and in all honesty Jack didn’t want to know). Slowly, very slowly, then all at once, Jack learned that David loved him.

As for Jack’s own secrets, he meant to keep them to himself, ‘cause there were just some things that he didn’t like to say out-loud, but sometimes he forgot, and sometimes it felt almost good to be known.


	38. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had, of course I’ll help.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. I suppose I thought he’d tell me I was beautiful, or offer to carry my basket for me, something like that,” Sarah blushed very prettily at these words, but then sighed and shook her head, despondent as she’d been all evening.

“Well,” said Katherine, who knew very well that Sarah’s mood was more than just a product of a boy failing to flirt with her. “Why don’t you tell me what he did say. Do I need to give him a piece of my mind?”

This won a ghost of a smile from Sarah. “No. He could have said much worse to me, and I would have deserved it. You as well, and my brothers, and all the other boys. You have to understand, We made a promise that the newsies strike would be about more than just the newsies. We handed out those papers to…”

“To all the children in every sweatshop and slaughter house in the city…” Katherine smacked herself across the forehead. How thoughtless could she have been?

“That’s just it! Of course he was angry. I handed him the banner myself. He said… He said I reminded him of an angel of hope, and I know that’s silly, and I know that I’m not, but I can’t help feeling that we made a promise to them.”

“I’ll think of a plan,” Katherine promised.

Sarah stood up, and kissed Katherine on the cheek. “I’ll go tell the boys. It’s time to call our union back to order. We should have done it months ago.”


	39. “What do you MEAN you’ve never seen Phantom of the Opera?!?!”

“What do you MEAN you’ve never seen Phantom of the Opera?” Kid Blink threw his hands up in the air, as if asking the heavens themselves how this could possibly be true. His face was twisted in a sort of dramatic agony, far beyond what one would expect from somebody just learning that a friend was not thoroughly versed in the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber. He clutched his chest in shock.

“ You have?” David couldn’t help asking.

Blink slammed his fists down on the table. “What do I look like, huh? Some kinda goon with no culture?”

“I just thought you liked…” David trailed off. Other things. He’d thought that Blink liked other things. Apparently what he liked was musicals,

“What? What?? Spit it out, Mouth! Just what is it you think I like? A Light in the Piazza? Matilda? Sunday in the Park with George? Okay, so maybe I do, but a man can’t limit himself to just one love.”

“I… don’t know what any of those are, actually.”

Blink sighed. The anger and indignity had drained out of his face, and been replaced with something else, perhaps pity. He put his arm around David’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Davey. I’ll get you to Phantom of the Opera yet, even if it means me and Mush have to put on a two man production in my living room.”

David stared at Blink for a minute, trying to judge if there might be any way to escape the grip of the opera ghost, and quickly decided that he had indeed been irrevocably ensnared. “I’ll look into getting cheap tickets online,” David promised.


	40. “You can’t give a seven year old coffee!”

"JACK!" David's voice was practically a screech. "You can't give a seven-year-old coffee!"

Jack rolled his eyes. “First you say my coffee’s too weak, then you say I can’t give it to a seven year old. So which is it Dave?”

“It’s coffee, Jack! Coffee! Any amount of coffee is bad for a seven year old.”

“It isn’t coffee,” Jack said primly, in what David could only guess was meant to be an imitation of his own speech patterns, “it’s sugar water.”

“Well it’s going to stunt his growth.”

“Huh. I wonder if that’s what happened to Spot.”


	41. You heard me, take it off (blush(

“Mush…”

Mush looked from Blink, to the tiny orange kitten sleeping on their quilt. There was a hint of warning in Blink’s voice that Mush had never heard directed at him before.

“It’s just a cat,” Mush tried to explain.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“It ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s real small, Kid.”

Kid Blink was facing the door. He rubbed at his neck like he was in pain, and he wouldn’t even look at the cat. Mush lifted it up off the bed. It let out an adorable, squeaky meow, then settled into his arms with a resounding purr. Mush couldn’t see the problem. Sure, their apartment was cramped, but one little cat wasn’t going to hurt anything. Cautiously, Mush reached out and touched Blink’s shoulder.

“Try and pet it,” Mush suggested. “It’s just a baby. It won’t scratch you or nothing.”

“Cats give me the creeps,” Blink admitted.

“That’s okay! I’ll protect you from it! You know I will. Just let it stay for a couple a’ days, and you’ll get used to it, and you’ll like it like I does, honest.” Mush held the animal out towards Blink, who flinched away, like it was a gun that Mush was pointing towards him, rather than a kitten. Mush even tried rubbing the kitten against Blink’s shoulder, but instead of being won over by the animal’s soft fur, Blink shoved Mush away. Mush stumbled back, and the kitten chose that moment to struggle out of Mush’s arms, and tumble to the floor, causing Blink to leap backwards into the wall.

“You didn’t have to go and do that,” Mush grumbled, as he went to his knees to retrieve the kitten, who at least didn’t seem to be hurt. “Are you really scared of it, Kid?”

“Yes. That’s what I been telling you, ain’t it?” Blink was moving towards the door of their apartment, keeping his back pressed up against the wall with each halting step. When Skittery had been trying to find a home for the cat yesterday, Blink had responded with a firm no, but it had been so cute, and Mush had been sure that Blink would come around once he got to know it. Now he wondered if maybe he had made a mistake.


	42. You heard me, take it off (javid)

“Take it off.”

In his attempt not to burst out laughing, David had scrunched up his lips so that he looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon. He was looking at anything other than Jack, which was hard, considering Jack kept trying to weave his way into his line of vision. After a brief scuffle, he managed to get hold of David’s shoulders, forcing him to look, and to laugh so hard and so suddenly that he actually spat in Jack’s face. Jack didn’t mind, but he made a show of wiping off his cheek with the edge of his sleeve anyway.

“Nice one, Dave,” Jack teased. “Anyways, I thought you’d like it. Got it made special just for you and everything.”

“Well, it’s not like I thought you’d just picked it up off the rack at the store. I… Seriously, Jack, take it off, before I make you.” David was blushing and he knew it, but he still tried to sound forceful.

“Whatever you say, Dave.” In one fluid movement, that David couldn’t help watching, Jack had removed his shirt, with its picture of David’s face and ridiculous words of congratulations. David found himself face to face with Jack’s bare chest. That wasn’t exactly an improvement on the situation.

“We better get going. Don’t wanna make you late for your own graduation,” Jack said with a smirk, already making his way towards the door.

“You can’t go like that!” David managed to shout. “I’ll… um… get you something of mine.”

“I see how it is,” Jack said. David was already rummaging through his drawers for a decent shirt with no wrinkles.

“Huh?”

Jack had come up behind David, and his hands were on his arms. “Just buying a shirt with your photo on it weren’t enough. You want me to dress up as you, like in homage.”

“Homage,” David repeated, trying for deadpan. It certainly wasn’t easy, with Jack standing there shirtless, clearly doing everything in his power to distract David, to the point where David wasn’t even sure he still remembered the speech that he was supposed to be making to the other students. Quickly he moved in and kissed Jack’s lips. “You have thirty seconds to pay whatever kind of homage you want, then I expect you to get dressed like a respectable person, or else .”


	43. “You know Crutchy, you never did tell me what you did to the sauerkraut.”

"Ya know, Crutchy," Jack said, "you never did tell me what you did to the sauerkraut."

Crutchy’s head jerked up from the book he’d been reading. He’d given up trying to get Jack to talk about the Refuge months ago. The mention of it was enough to make Jack shut down.

“What’s got ya interested all of a sudden? Looking for a new recipe to try out?”

Crunchy winked at Jack, and regretted it, because Jack flopped back against his bed with a small growl. Crutchy hadn’t realized that Jack was upset. He grabbed his crutch, and made his way over to the side of Jack’s bunk.

“Hey. Hey, come on Jackie, what’s eating you tonight?”

Jack rolled over to face Crutchy, giving him a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’,” Jack said. “I was just hoping you’d tell me something funny.”

“Snyder’s gonna rot in jail forever, Jack. How’s that for a funny story.”

“Not bad. But I still want to know about the sauerkraut.”

“That,” said Crutchy, with a smug grin that he rarely wore, “ain’t fit for polite company.”

“Where’s the polite company? I don’t see anybody polite in here.”

Across the room Bumlets, who was half asleep in his bunk, raised his hand. It wasn’t exactly unexpected. Bumlets was always up for playing polite company, if nobody else wanted to rise to the challenge.

Crutchy patted Jack on the shoulder, went back to bed, and the mystery of the sauerkraut was preserved for another day.


	44. “Hey, Dave, just called to say I miss you. I love you. Come home soon.”

“Hey, Dave, just called to say I miss you. I love you. Come home soon.” 

Sarah let the phone drop down on to the receiver. She rubbed her temples. The unspoken truth tasted bitter in her mouth. Mama had hidden away in her room, and so she couldn’t see how badly Sarah had just failed. Les, on the other hand, was staring wide-eyed at her.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” He sounded too little, too childish for his twelve years, and it made Sarah want to snap at him.

“He’ll be home soon enough.”

David would know that something was wrong too, if he bothered to check his voice mail. It wasn’t as though Sarah was in the habit of calling him in the middle of the day just to let him know she loved him. And she’d said she missed him. What had she been thinking?

Sarah stood up stiffly. She took a few steps towards her room, then turned to the kitchen instead. She could make tea for everybody, do the dishes, put away the remnants of dinner. If only being useful could be enough to slow down her heart rate and drown her worries.

That’s when door creaked open. Two pairs of footsteps echoed in the hallway. David was telling Jack that of course his parents wouldn’t mind if he stayed over for dinner. Before Sarah could stop him, Les tore away and raced over to tell their brother about papa’s diagnoses.


	45. Three years after the strike, in their own tiny, cramped apartment, David lies in the dawn light from the window, with a half asleep Jack draped across him. “Do you still think about Santa Fe?” David asks in a whisper.

Three years after the strike, in their own tiny, cramped apartment, David lies in the dawn light from the window, with a half asleep Jack draped across him. “Do you still think about Santa Fe?” David asks in a whisper.

Jack shrugs. “It’s nice to know that it’s still out there, y'know, for when you get sick of me.”

David lets out a short laugh, which Jack didn’t share. That’s when it dawns on David that maybe Jack is serious, that maybe he still thinks that David will give up on him one of these days. He hugs Jack around the shoulders. “I’m not going to get sick of you.”

Jack doesn’t answer. David is leaning in to kiss Jack, to prove to him just how far from sick of him he is, when another thought strikes him.

“Wait,” David says. “Wait. You’re not hoping I’ll get sick of you and ship you out west, are you?”

“Hmmm…”

David doesn’t know what to make of Jack’s pause, even as Jack shifts his weight to crouch over him, and kisses his furrowed brow. The next kiss falls on David’s collarbone.

“There’s a lot I’d miss about you,” Jack says, close to his neck. David lets him, even as he realizes that it’s a distraction technique; Jack has a million of those, and David is learning to recognize them when he sees them, but he’s also learning the value of not tearing apart Jack’s every defense mechanism the moment they pop up. Instead he tries to acknowledge his situation for what it really is: Jack Kelly still fears abandonment, Jack Kelly still fears the loss of his dreams, and in the midst of all this he and Jack are still very much in love.

“We could go together,” David blurts out, interrupting the progress of Jack’s kisses just before they can reach his stomach. Jack sits up quickly, a touch of bewilderment on his face, and a touch of sunlight. He shakes the hair out of his eyes.

“You mean that?” Jack’s voice is low and rough. David just nods.

“Someday,” David amends. “And not permanently. We’d need to prepare and save money, also. Not just for the train tickets. We’re not going to do something stupid like hop a train tomorrow with only the cl—”

Jack is beaming. David knows it’s time to swallow down the butterflies in his stomach, and find his resolve. He bites off his excuses and explanations. “Someday in the next two years,” he promises. “We’ll find a way to get there.”


	46. Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!

"Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!"

Sarah looked back at Katherine, all mild innocence, as if she hadn’t just started a war.

“You’ll regret that,” Kathrine promised, before giving chase.

Half an hour later, with her cheeks flush, and her coat soaked through from the pelting of snowballs it had sustained, Sarah unregretfully named Katherine the victor.

“And, as the victor,” Sarah explained, “you’re entitled to unlimited hot chocolate and kisses back at my place.”

Though there wasn’t a hint of smugness in Sarah’s voice or countenance, she and Katherine both knew full well who had really won.


	47. Didn’t you see what I did?

Jack bounded up to David, threw his arms around his stiff frame, and let out a short, breathless laugh. The two boys could not have been more of a contrast to each other, Jack rosy from exertion, hat askew, while David just started at him with eyes as cold and grey as the Hudson in winter.

“Didn’t you see what I just did?!” Jack enthused. David to pushed him away.

“If you mean almost getting yourself killed, then yes Jack, yes I saw it and….”

“C'mon Dave, it ain’t as bad as that. I know what I’m—”

David cut him off by grabbing him by both shoulders, “ Do you have any idea what it would do to me if you got seriously hurt or God forbid…” David clamped his mouth shut suddenly, surveying Jack’s bewildered face. He shook his head as though in disbelief. “You don’t,” he concluded, then let Jack go.

It was that you don’t that Jack couldn’t get out of his head later. David was right. He didn’t have any idea. He really didn’t, and the biggest part of him wanted to test things, to learn. It wasn’t that he was arrogant enough to think that David cared about him, based on a few throwaway words, a glance here and there, a touch. It was just that there was a possibility, the kind of possibility that Jack hadn’t felt in years.

Jack wished, more than anything, that the part of his mind that was already contemplating ways to destroy whatever it was David felt for him would shut the hell up for once.


	48. “I’m going to be sick.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He shook his head, eyes widening a fraction, then settled on fixing David’s tie. “Not a good idea, Dave. Ruth might have a fit. Not a lot of brides gonna stand for vomit on their wedding dress.”

David pursed his lips and half stumbled over to a nearby stool. “You could at least show some concern,” he mumbled.

“That was concern, Dave. Don’t you know concern when you hear it? Come on. Want me to get you a drink or something? You’re gettin’ married, not attending a funeral.”

“Ruth is too sensible to throw a fit,” David said. He sat up a little bit, straightened his shoulders.

“That’s why you love her,” Mush said encouragingly, from his spot in the corner of the room.

Jack ran his hand up through his hair. He looked very young, David noticed, frightened even though this day had nothing to do with him.

“I’m gonna go get those drinks,” Jack announced. “One for me, one for you, one for…”

“I’m trying temperance,” said Mush.

“Great! Fantastic! That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day! None for Mush!” Jack’s grin was stretched so wide that it might break.

He must’ve gotten lost going for those drinks, because the wedding was almost over before Jack returned and took a seat at the back. David couldn’t find him afterwards.


	49. Don't touch me

“Don’t touch me,” Snoddy hissed through clenched teeth, each word harsh and vicious. An attempt at jumping over a certain barrel, one which Pie Eater jumped every single morning on the way to work, had gone horribly wrong.

Snoddy could feel all eyes upon him, but it was Pie Eater who hovered close by, hands barely an inch away from his body. God, Snoddy’s back was hurting so badly that the world was swimming and he thought for sure he’d be sick.

“I can help,” somebody announced. It was Mush. Pie Eater huffed out a breath. Even without words, Snoddy could feel how close he was, and how scared.

“Me too,” Kid Blink offered.

“Me three!” Tumbler’s words were high pitched and childish, less reassuring than the others had been, though surely just as well meant.

“Yeah,” Pie Eater’s voice shook, but only a little bit. “Yeah, that’d be great. Just… Just get Kloppman, okay? The old man’ll know what to do. You hear that Snoddy? You don’t gotta worry. Our friends is getting help, and I’m staying here with you.”

Snoddy’s warnings not to touch went unheeded, but Pie Eater’s large hands were gentle, light and kind enough not to hurt.


	50. "I know I've made some mistakes, and I want to make it up to you."

“I know I’ve made some mistakes, and I want to make it up to you,” Spot began. He didn’t look at Jack as he spoke, but off into the distance, taking a drag of his cigarette. He waited until Jack turned a baffled face towards him, some kind of answer on the tip of his tongue. That’s when Spot broke out laughing.

“What?” Jack demanded.

“April fools. I don’t make mistakes.”


	51. "“Would you get mad at me if I said I did not, in fact, remember you?”"

Sarah sat on her and Katherine’s, embroidering a pillowcase by the light of an oil lamp. It was noon, but the storm outside had rendered it as dark as night. The sound of pounding rain blended with the sounds of Katherine’s fingers, pounding across the keyboard. It was a cacophony, but a peaceful one, that somehow made the quilt Sarah was sitting on feel softer, and the milky tea that she was drinking taste sweeter.

Katherine was on her fourth cup of coffee, and her third crumpled up page of discarded writing. She turned to Sarah, and her face was full of fire. “I’ve thought of at least three dozen ways to describe Jonathan Randal’s latest escapades, and not a single one of them is suitable to print,” she said.

“Type them anyway and let me see,” Sarah suggested mildly. She kept her eyes trained on her needle, pressing it through the fabric. “I’ll help you edit it if you like.”

Katherine got up from her keyboard, and flopped back on the bed. Sarah put her needlework down on the bedside table, and curled up next to Katherine. “I’ll sew the worst words you write onto the pillow,” she whispered. “I need inspiration, because the one I’m working on now only says ‘good morning’.”

“Do I even know you?” Katherine asked, not even trying to hide her smile.


End file.
